


Entwined

by Fyre



Series: A Little Tied Up [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Clothing Kink, Hand Jobs, Shibari, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27512572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: The angel lifted a hand to the bowtie at his throat. Not one of his usual ones, this. The tartan was considerably darker than the ties he picked out himself, red, gold and black interwoven. He brushed his fingertips over the knot, then outwards, smiling at the corresponding shiver of the shadow.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: A Little Tied Up [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993465
Comments: 12
Kudos: 109





	Entwined

Aziraphale took his time making a cup of cocoa.

There was no need to hurry. In fact, the delay was more than welcome, prolonging the enjoyment of the moment.

Outside of the shop, the world bustled on, the blustery weather turning passersby by into nothing so much as clusters of hasty mushrooms. Raindrops pattered against the windows, drumming in a steady rhythm and despite the misery of the weather outside, the shop was warm, softly lit and snug as could be.

He returned to the main body of the shop, mug in hand, and took a moment to admire the extravagant shadow cast across the floor. It would have been more impressive with direct sunlight, but for now, daylight was enough, the outline softly hazed at the edges like a mirage.

The angel lifted a hand to the bowtie at his throat. Not one of his usual ones, this. The tartan was considerably darker than the ties he picked out himself, red, gold and black interwoven. He brushed his fingertips over the knot, then outwards, smiling at the corresponding shiver of the shadow.

“A little longer?” he murmured.

From above him, there was a drowsy hum of approval.

Taking up one of his books, he settled in one of the armchairs framing the edge of the dome. The cocoa was delicious, the book charming, but as much as he intended to focus on them, his eyes kept drifting upwards.

Eventually, he abandoned both book and cocoa unfinished, making his way up the staircase to the balcony that circled around the upper level. Dipping under lengths of scarlet cord, he made his way around to the eastern side of the dome and couldn’t help smiling.

“Dearest,” he said softly, reaching out over the rail. He had to stretch his arm to cup Crowley’s cheek, the drowsing demon cracking open solid golden eyes, a sleepy smile spreading – unguarded – across his face. “There you are.”

“Ngh,” Crowley agreed, pressing his cheek into Aziraphale’s palm.

“I think it’s time we brought you down, darling,” Aziraphale murmured. “I’m feeling rather envious of ropes at the moment and that’s hardly reasonable, is it?”

Crowley’s small chuff of laughter was warm against his palm. “Mm.”

It was a shame, he had to admit. Crowley looked quite the living work of art.

They had spent several intricate and sensual hours that morning preparing it all. Crowley had been reduced to a shivering mass of nerves and excitement as each cord threaded across his skin, harnesses drawing tight, one by one immobilising his lean limbs, leaving him utterly at Aziraphale’s mercy, laid out on a tartan blanket on the floor.

The complex arrangement of pulleys had worked to perfection, lifting the supine demon from the ground with the lightest of tugs of Aziraphale’s hand. He had risen to hang horizontally, suspended as if in flight, beneath the dome, caught in a moment in the space between floor and ceiling, cradled in a mesh of ropes, restrained and embraced and utterly wound up in the sensation of Aziraphale.

“I’ll lower you,” Aziraphale murmured, brushing his thumb along Crowley’s cheekbone, “then join you downstairs.”

“S’long as you don’t jusssss cut the ropesssss.”

The angel tapped his cheek reproachfully. “Don’t be silly, love.”

Crowley, rope-drunk and delightfully giddy by all appearances, crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

Aziraphale retreated through the complex labyrinth of ropes to the small gantry he had put in place. Yes, it was old-fashioned, but in such circumstances, it was better to trust the strength of one’s hands than some new-fangled technological nonsense.

One by one, he unhitched the lead lines, holding them tight and steady in his hand, gradually taking all of the weight of Crowley. He turned, bracing his feet firmly and slowly, gently, began to lower his lover back to the floor. Around the demon, loosening loops of rope swung and swayed like dozens of serpents around him, until – at last – he landed lightly on a nest of tartan blanket and tangled coils.

“Safe?” he called down.

“Mm,” the vague reply came back.

Untangling his hand from the mess of ropes, leaving them in a heap on the floor, Aziraphale hurried back down the staircase and across the floor to the scarlet and pink and russet tangle there. He knelt at once, slipping his hands gently under Crowley’s arms and hauling him up to rest against his chest, limp as a wet towel in his grip.

“There we are,” he said softly, pulling one knot loose, then another. Slithering ropes slid over shoulder, rib, hip, off. “You did very well.”

“Sssss,” Crowley confirmed, lolling against him. He hissed again, more softly as Aziraphale drew the harnesses loose. The marks left behind were deeper than usual, sending a peculiarly possessive surge of heat through the angel. He dipped a fingertip into the ridged groove curving across Crowley’s hip, following to one junction, then another, tracking upwards.

“Not too painful, I hope,” he murmured.

Crowley’s head knocked against his throat. “Mm-mm.” His chest rose and fell under Aziraphale’s palm and he hummed contentedly as Aziraphale traced a star indentations, where several ropes had come together.

Bracing his hand against Crowley’s chest, Aziraphale leaned forward to pull loose the ropes around his legs.

“Mm.” Crowley caught his wrist, stilling him.

“No?”

“Bit sssssnakey,” Crowley murmured, sounding far too pleased with himself. “No legsssss.” He dragged Aziraphale’s hand over his hip, all but dropping it at the juncture of his thighs. “Feeling sssssssnakey.”

Aziraphale smiled close to his ear as twin swells pressed against his palm. “Saucy minx.” He kissed the corner of the demon’s jaw. “You’re not too tired.”

Crowley patted the back of his hand vaguely. “Naaaaah.” He gave a low, contented sigh as Aziraphale obligingly curled his hands around the narrow lengths of his serpentine erections. He threaded a finger between them, dragging his hand slowly up and down, basking in the exhausted little shudders of pleasure that skittered through Crowley’s body.

“I do so enjoy seeing you like this,” he murmured, letting the fingers of his other hand splay and explore Crowley’s rope-tracked torso. “Writhing, tangled up, soft as butter.”

Crowley made a small, almost pained sound, squeezing his wrist, rutting up against Aziraphale’s hand as much as his loose limbs would allow.

“One of these days,” the angel continued, adjusting his grip, admiring the rapid rise-fall of Crowley’s ribs and belly and the twitching of his legs, “I’ll tie you down thoroughly and have you at my leisure, taking my time and pleasure of you for as long as I fancy.”

“Fuuuuuu–” Crowley arched, fingers biting into Aziraphale’s wrist, as he came. He sagged back against Aziraphale’s chest, breathing hard, his grip loosening and slithering off the angel’s arm.

Aziraphale kissed his ear, smiling. “Perhaps a little longer than that.”

“Ngh.”

“Yes, dear,” the angel teased, still stroking him, drawing every last drop out of him. “I know. I’m terrible.” He lifted his hand, slick and wet, and gazed at it for a moment, before bringing it to his lips and licking his fingers.

To his delight, Crowley craned his head and licked at the corner of his mouth too, until he forgot all about his fingers and all his attention returned to lazily kissing his lover. When Crowley slouched back with a sated sound, the angel smiled.

“To bed, I think,” he murmured, easily swinging Crowley’s limp body around so he could slip his arms under the demon’s knees and around his ribs. Crowley’s head dropped to rest on his shoulder and by the time Aziraphale was halfway up the stairs, still trailing an absurd length of red rope, Crowley was snoring softly.

Since their relationship had shifted to a more physical one, the bedroom had played a larger part. It also meant the bed had expanded somewhat, since Crowley tended to be a restless sleeper, sometimes entirely forgetting he could sleep in a human shape, rather than twisting and coiling himself up like a yumyum.

Aziraphale laid him down gently, lowering his head onto the pillows. It came as no surprise that Crowley immediately squirmed and curled his body inwards like a particularly determined comma, his legs still snugly tied.

“What am I to do with you, darling?” the angel murmured affectionately, brushing his thumb lightly along Crowley’s flushed cheek. He leaned down to kiss Crowley’s brow, then set to work untangling the cords around his legs.

Though fast asleep, Crowley mumbled and murmured, splaying his scaly toes and rubbing the sensitive ringed flesh of his freed legs together. Aziraphale pressed a hand to his hip, following the line of a particularly deep curve across the meat of his thigh, then bowed his head and kissed that too, capturing the tang of salt and sweat.

“What a mess you’ve made,” he said softly. “I’d best get you cleaned up.”

Crowley scarcely moved as Aziraphale wandered back and forth about the room, looping up the rope and hanging it on the back of the door. He filled his wash basin from the jug on the dressing table and carried it back to the bed, kneeling down on the rug beside it.

And with the patience of a priest before an altar, he started tenderly sponging and cleaning Crowley’s sated and sleeping body.

_________________________________

Crowley surfaced in a warm and soft world, a hand curled in his hair, the scent of angel all around him. Paper whispered on paper. Page turning. Book. Angel reading. He shifted reluctantly, drawing his face out the warm dip of Aziraphale’s belly.

“Good evening,” Aziraphale smiled without so much as looking down at him. “I thought you might wake up soon.”

A little shift more slid Aziraphale’s palm to his cheek, fingers still lost in Crowley’s hair. Soft palm. Warm too. He kissed it, then nuzzled it, gazing drowsily up at its owner. A small, bashful smile tugged at the demon’s lips. “Still got it on.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks pinked. He laid aside his book and lifted his empty hand to the tie at his throat, brushing his fingers across the knot and out. The touch thrummed across Crowley’s senses, his back arching instinctively, like a cat.

“I didn’t think it was my place to untie it,” the angel murmured. “You twined it so beautifully.” The smallest of dimples curved in his cheek. “And you felt so very peaceful and happy.” Another stroke of those lovely manicured fingers. “Thank you.”

With effort, Crowley rolled to his side and levered himself over Aziraphale’s leg to spill into the v between his thighs. Slithering was easier there, up Aziraphale’s warm, soft body a bit at a time, until his nose grazed the bowtie. Not quite like Aziraphale’s ropes. Hadn’t got the knack yet, but enough for them to share touches without contact.

“I like you in black and red,” he murmured, nuzzling the softness of Aziraphale’s double-chin. “ _My_ angel.”

The rose-pink flush was returning, blooming. “Oh you’re in a _mood_ …” he breathed.

“Mm.” Crowley nipped the soft skin. “The tie? Or me?”

Aziraphale laughed breathlessly. “It’s… more potent with proximity.” His hand curled back around the nape of Crowley’s neck.

“And not even on skin.” Crowley reared up, propping one arm against Aziraphale’s chest, batting at the flare of the bow with his fingertips. Not even on skin, he mused, then tugged. The tie came undone at once, making Aziraphale exhale sharply. Keeping his eyes on the angel’s flushed face, he dragged the tie from beneath the collar, inch by tantalising inch.

Aziraphale swallowed hard, fingertips kneading at Crowley’s scalp. “That’s a… rather interesting sensation.”

Crowley nipped at his chin. “Like wearing me around your neck,” he murmured.

Hazy sea-coloured eyes met his. “May we try more? Elsewhere? If you like?”

Well, fuck, Crowley thought happily, surging up and kissing him, tie temporarily forgotten. Tying Aziraphale was one thing. Tying an avatar of himself around Aziraphale was an entirely different concept and the thought of the warmth and sensation and scent and sound of him passing through the bonds…

“Tease,” he murmured into the angel’s lips.

“Always,” Aziraphale replied just as softly.

“Ngh.” Crowley told him sternly, before kissing his low lip, his chin and down onto his throat. He plucked open the buttons of the angel’s shirt one by one, nosing his way down Aziraphale’s chest, burying his face in the coarse fluff of hair, then nudging the shirt open with the tip of his nose to dart an attentive lick on each rosy pink nipple.

Aziraphale made a low sound of approval, tugging gently on his hair. “I don’t think I told you how lovely you looked earlier.”

Crowley directed a glare at him. “No distracting me.” He punctuated his words by gently biting the curve of Aziraphale’s belly.

“Hardly distracting,” Aziraphale retorted with a huff of a laugh, his thighs spilling a little wider around Crowley’s sides. “Complimenting.”

Apparently, blowing a raspberry on the angel’s belly was more effective than a telling-off.

“Crowley!”

“I’ll do it again!” he threatened, trying not to grin. “No more of your soft nonsense.”

Aziraphale made that face he always did when he was trying not to smile, lips pulling down while his eyes glinted with amusement. “Later, then, and we’ll–” Air hissed between his teeth as Crowley bit again, just above his completely decorative and pointless navel, then sucked a flushed rosette into the soft skin.

Beneath him, Crowley could feel the press of Aziraphale’s arousal against his chest, and he flashed a grin up at the angel, before slithering further down. Could’ve snapped the belt and buttons open, but instead, he took his time, unfastening them by hand.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” Aziraphale grumbled shifting his hips on the bedding.

“Problem?” Crowley asked innocently, rubbing his cheek against the prominent swell jutting up against Aziraphale’s underpants.

“You are an insufferable tease,” Aziraphale said mournfully, though he caught his breath as Crowley slid the front of his underwear down and exposed him.

“I am,” Crowley agreed. “Close your eyes.”

“Crowley!”

“I could stop,” he suggested, an awful lie that neither of them believed.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh, very well.” He tilted his chin up and pressed his eyes shut, lashes fluttering against his cheekbones. He flapped a hand, jutting out his lower lip. “Have at it and spoil my fun.”

The sound the angel made when Crowley wound the bowtie around his cock was worth the pouting.

There were gasps and stutters and sounds that were almost Crowley’s name. His heels dug into the mattress, and his fingers in the demon’s hair clenched convulsively.

“Oh!” he managed after several sputtering seconds. “My… my word.”

“Y’can look,” Crowley purred gleefully, drawing the fabric of the bowtie slowly back and forth. And the second Aziraphale opened his eyes, he lowered his mouth and licked.

In hindsight, he should’ve picked it up. Free-flowing emotion and sensation and all that. But it all kind of clouded together, so the angel coming all over his face still managed to be a bit of a surprise for both of them.

“Oh!” Aziraphale squeaked, hand to his own mouth. “Oh dear!”

Crowley blinked to clear his vision, then started laughing, dropping his brow to rest on Aziraphale’s belly. “Noted. Bit much for contact there.” He snapped his fingers, dispatching the tie to somewhere it wouldn’t make such a mess, and settled there to gently start licking the excess off Aziraphale’s skin. “Maybe work up to that.”

“It felt _very_ good,” Aziraphale admittedly bashfully, stroking his hand through Crowley’s hair.

Crowley raised his eyes to him and lofted his eyebrows. “I got that,” he said, then laughed again as the angel produced a sodding hanky out of thin air and solicitously dabbed the rest of his face clean. Because of course he did, silly fussy thing.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

Aziraphale lifted a shoulder. “For indulging me. I know you weren’t sure–”

Crowley squirmed back up his body, pressing them chest to warm, damp chest. “You looked good in it,” he said as gently and as seriously as he could. “Fuck, angel, if you hadn’t gone off like that, I might’ve even been able to tie it in a bow down there.”

To his delight, Aziraphale giggled. “Oh?”

“Context.” He sprawled comfortably on Aziraphale’s chest. “S’a bit of you and a bit of me. Doesn’t feel weird or bad. S’us, isn’t it?” He nosed into the soft warmth of Aziraphale’s throat. “Can tangle a bit of me around you. Like the ropes for me.”

He could feel Aziraphale’s smile against his brow. “My own little snake?”

And it was, wasn’t it? A little bit?

Crowley lifted his head to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale shone with happiness and drew him close to kiss him. “You are such a darling,” he murmured.

“Pfft,” Crowley grumbled, smiling as he curled back down over him. “Shaddup.”


End file.
